


Failure Day

by ThisIsntCreativeAtAll



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Just a vent piece because dealing with emotions is hard, Lots Of Sad, Lots of Crying, Skeleton hugs, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, gift baskets, lots of emotions, mentioned attempted suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 19:05:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12539052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisIsntCreativeAtAll/pseuds/ThisIsntCreativeAtAll
Summary: It's the anniversary of one of your biggest failures. You're not taking it well.





	Failure Day

"Hello?"

Shit. Hang up. Just go into work, you could survive the eight hours and then come home and then you could lose all pretenses of emotional stability then. You nodded and went to roll out of bed.

Except your body didn't budge.

"Hello? Are you there?"

You couldn't do it. You couldn't go into work. You physically could not get out of bed. Everything felt so heavy.

"H-hey, I... I'm so sorry, but, I've been puking since three AM and I... I just don't think I should get out of bed. I'm really sorry, do you... do you think..."

"Oh, dear, don't you fret. You only worry about feeling better. Shall I bring you soup or crackers? I do not mind bringing them by after work." Her sweet voice was enough to make your stomach feel as sick as you were making yourself out to be. It twisted up with guilt, as though you needed another reason to feel terrible that day.

"No... thank you though, I've got enough here..." You trailed awkwardly. You wondered how to go about ending a hooky call-out phone call.

"Alright. You get yourself some rest, dear. Feel better!"

"You t-... too..." You groaned, "I mean, uh, have a good one. Bye..." You hung up, slapping your palm over your face in humiliation and throwing yourself back onto your mattress. A spring dug up into your shoulder and you rolled onto your side to get away from it. You tried again to get out of bed, but the motivation didn't come. So instead you laid there, your heart racing at the exhilaration of playing hooky. Well, was it hooky when you really couldn't go in, but the real reason wasn't one you could openly admit?

It wasn't like you could call work and say "Hey, I can't come in because one year ago today I tried to kill myself and failed."

You filled your lungs until your chest stung with pressure. You held the air there, needing the sensations to ground you. You shut your eyes, wanting desperately to fall back asleep and dream the day away. If you slept through it, you didn't have to pay attention to its significance. Soon enough it would be tomorrow and it would be like today never even happened. You didn't want to be awake. You didn't want to be there. You didn't want to be anywhere. You didn't want to exist.

You could still taste the cough syrup in your mouth, the type you'd used to chase down your mouthful of pills. You remembered how you had felt as you sat in your car, waiting so patiently for the effects to kick in. You remembered marveling at just how calm you felt in the face of death, you had thought you would feel more hysteric. Whenever you had thought of suicide before, you always pictured your own tear-stained face as you sobbed and held a gun to your head or a razor to your wrists. The reality was so much calmer than you had anticipated. A few tears slipped from your eyes, but for the most part, you were just too fucking tired for anything else.

Soon, you would fall asleep. While you slept, the overdose would take you away and you would never wake up again.

That was what was best for everyone.

You vividly remembered the sentiments behind your decision. You knew, in the rational part of your brain, that there were people out there who loved you. There were people who cared about how you felt and wanted you in their lives. You knew that there were people who would be so sad when you were gone and they would be miserable without you. You knew they would wonder why you did it, you knew some would blame themselves and they would be torn apart by it. Why, why, why did you do it? Why didn't you talk to someone? They would have helped you.

But, you had decided, you were beyond helping. No amount of talking would fix you. This was what had to happen, for the sake of everyone you loved. Their initial pain would be over quickly and then they would move on.

This way, you could never disappoint them ever again. Your parents would never have to loan you money again because you needed to pay your half of the bills and you had already spent your paycheck because you lacked self-control. Your sibling would never have to answer your late night phone calls when your anxiety got the best of you and you needed reassurance. Your friends would never have their texts ignored by you based solely on the fact that you weren't feeling up to replying. You couldn't cancel any plans last minute because you lacked the motivation to leave your apartment that day, inconveniencing the people you had promised. You couldn't humiliate yourself in public anymore.

It was just what was best for everyone, all around.

You remembered how time passed slowly in your car, too slowly. You wished desperately it would all just kick in right then and there, spare you the time to think about what you were doing. But there you were, sitting, thinking, dying. You anticipated a fear that never came for you. You were completely calm about it, even when you considered it. Your parents were always religious people, and you wondered if they might actually be right. Maybe heaven and hell were real. You had heard that people who killed themselves didn't go to heaven, because technically it was murder. That meant you would be stuck in hell for eternity.

Whatever, you thought, you were already in hell. Existence in itself was hell.

You rolled over in your bed, shoving your face into your pillow as tears rolled down your cheeks. You couldn't believe it had really been a year already. By all means, you should not be alive, and yet there you were. Your heart was beating, your blood was pumping, your brain was active. You were alive. Existing. Doing exactly what you thought you couldn't--survive another year.

You let out your breath finally. Your whole body was tense on your mattress. You didn't realize you had even been tense until you focused on relaxing. Your fists uncurled, your toes spread, your neck loosened and allowed you to lay back more comfortably. Your shoulders fell, your jaw unset itself.

You felt so incredibly guilty for living. If you had just been strong enough, if you had just stuck to your guns then you could have spared so many people the curse that was having you in their lives. You would never have dropped everything in your life and abandoned your family and friends. Your family would never have been able to disown you for living with monsters, working with monsters, and defending the monsters. And, gods, what you had done to the monsters themselves.

You could never have utterly humiliated yourself in front of them over and over and over. You could never have shoved yourself into their lives where they felt obligated to let you. You were so pathetic that they kept you around for your good, not their own. Maybe they just liked to laugh at your trainwreck of a life, you were a show to them. Maybe they kept you out of necessity, only letting you stay until they could find your replacement for your job. They were only stuck with you until then.

You shoved your face into your pillow, your whole body tensing once more as you braced yourself. You let out a scream you used your entire being to create. You made it as painful as you could, feeling it rip up from your toes and through your bones and your abdomen, up from your lungs and through your throat. You nearly choked on the sound, letting it distract you from the discomfort that was simply being alive. You wanted to stop feeling guilty, and sad, and hopeless, and miserable. You wanted to stop feeling, period.

You just... you wished you hadn't failed.

You knew exactly what had gone wrong, and you wished you could go back and just remedy it. You wished you could go back in time and fix that one mistake, and then none of this ever could have happened. You remembered that taste of the chunky cough syrup and pill vomit, and you still didn't touch either of them to this day.

A disturbed laugh from your belly caught you off guard.

 _You couldn't even kill yourself right_.

You hated yourself **so much.**

It was incredibly inappropriate for you to be laughing, but there you were; in bed, your pillow soaked from tears, too exhausted to get up, and laughing as you reminisced about your failures. It was very, very dark and somehow that only made it funnier. You had wanted to die because you were such a failure, and you were such a failure you couldn't die. Not even death wanted to embrace you.

"knock, knock."

You froze, sitting up in bed and wiping your face free of snot and tears that covered both it and your pillow. You were a bit out of it, wondering what time it was that Sans would arrive at your place unannounced. It wasn't as though it was something he never did, but you just didn't expect it today of all days. You checked the time and blinked in surprise. It was nearly four PM. Wow, time flies when you're wallowing in your complete and utter lack of self-worth. You sucked in your breath and shut your eyes, reorienting yourself to the world. You figured he would know, since he was your coworker after all and he and the boss were little gossips so he was likely dropping off some soup Papyrus made you or crackers or something of the sort. Then, once he was sure of your well being, he would leave you with well wishes and you could go back to your pit of self-hatred.

"Who's there?" You asked, your voice thick with tears as you managed to go to the door to answer it, though your knees were as ready to give up as you were. You hated how evident your tears were in your speech, but it would be easy enough to pass it off ass your fake illness.

"anita." You rolled your eyes. Couldn't he be any more creative?

"Anita who?" You humored, your hand resting on the doorknob. He didn't like it whenever you would open the door before his joke was finished.

"anita hand, would ya open the door?" Just as you had guessed, his joke was thin and predictable but you still allowed yourself to laugh as you pulled the door open.

You were greeted with a skeleton holding a bouquet of flowers, a basket with a thermos and crackers and ginger ale cans nestled in a very soft looking blanket, balloons, and a card tied to the handle of the basket with a bow. The sight nearly drove you to tears once more. Emotions swelled in your throat as you took a step back and pressed your lips together, convinced that opening your mouth to greet him would only produce a sob. Sans stepped inside and went over to the island in your kitchen, as you had yet to get a table of any sort for your apartment. He set the things down looked back over at you where you had yet to release the door.

"heard you were sick, how you feelin'?" He asked you curiously, looking you over as you finally remembered to shut the door and go over to the kitchen where he waited. You shrugged, your fingers tangling in the hem of your oversized t-shirt. You knew you looked like absolute shit, but it suited you as you felt like absolute shit and even the lie you had put in place was one where you were supposed to look like shit. So it all worked out swimmingly.

You filled your lungs, pulling on the fabric as you wrapped it around your fingers anxiously. The air burned your lungs to balance out your heavy emotions. "... Fine."

Sans appeared amused, quirking a brow bone. "liar," he mused, grinning as always, "so what's wrong? tummy troubles? got the flu, cold, meningitis?" Something in his voice was off to you. Like he didn't actually believe you were sick, and knowing how perceptive he was that was likely the case.

"Tummy troubles, yeah. Puking since one AM basically," you affirmed your lie from earlier, feeling uncomfortable under his scrutinous gaze. You didn't need him picking apart your lies today.

"really?" Sans went to one of your cupboards and pulled out a bowl, plate, and spoon, setting them all down on the counter as he plucked a few things out of your get well basket. "i heard you'd been pukin' since three."

Shit, had you said three? You were sure you had said one, you always said one. "Oh..."

"so, which is it, bucko? one or three?" He would make a fantastic interrogator.

"M-maybe... I don't know, it was... it was somewhere around there..."

"you must have a fever too, not thinking straight, right?"

"Y-yeah..." Your fingers found a dangling thread on your shirt and you pulled at it. You didn't need an interrogation, you needed to be in bed affirming how awful you were at being a functioning person. He was stressing you out, his questions overwhelming your delicate state of mind. Had he come over just to cross-examine you? Was he going to tell on you to your boss, tell her you weren't actually sick? What was he doing here at all? Why did he even care?

Why would anyone care about you?

"alright," Sans poured the soup from the thermos into the bowl, then set a few crackers on the plate and cracked open a can of ginger ale. "here, make you feel good as new." He insisted, handing you a cracker as he pushed the food closer to you. Your stomach churned at the very idea of putting food in your mouth.

You grimaced, eyeing the food warily, "No, I'm... I'm fine, I'm not hungry right now. Thank you for everything, I just want to get back to bed and, y'know, feel better tomorrow." You insisted, eager to get him out of your house so you could return to tearing yourself down and beating yourself up for just existing. Sans nodded in understanding and put the cracker right back down.

"okay, sounds like a plan. open the card, though, will ya?" He plucked the pale blue envelope from the handle of the basket and handed it over to you. You sighed heavily and nodded, taking it from him. You would humor him for another moment and then he would be gone. You ripped the envelope open and slid the card out, giving a weak smile. On the outside was an adorable little, fluffy white dog. It looked like one of those extremely generic cards you could buy in bundles of fifty that were blank on the inside. You opened the card, expecting well wishes.

**_"happy failure day"_ **

You blinked in confusion. What the hell was failure day.

"... What the hell is this?" You hadn't meant to sound as rude as you did.

"happy failure day." Sans said matter-of-factly, repeating the sentiment. He took a step closer to you, his hands shoved into his pockets as he made eye contact with you and maintained it. "s'why you stayed home, right? 'cause of what you did last year. you're not sick." You dragged in shaky breaths, feeling light-headed as your heartbeat echoed in your eardrums. How did he know?

"you told me once when you were drunk. don't worry about it. i wasn't gunna mention it, honestly, then you called out this mornin' so here i am."

Your heart fell to your feet as tears filled your eyes. Your body shook with the sudden bombardment of a new wave of emotions. "Happy failure day?" You repeated, your voice quavering as your brain short-circuited.

"yeah. a year ago you failed. that failure, that specific thing you did, is something to be celebrated." He stated it so simply, like it was just so plainly obvious. "if you hadn't failed, none of us woulda ever met you."

You stared at him blankly as mute tears ran down your cheeks. How could you have drunkenly told him the most secret, intimate thing about you.

This was too much, you couldn't deal with this. You wanted out, this wasn't happening. "Get out." You ordered, pointing to your door as though he somehow didn't know where it was already. He blinked and stared at you rather than obey. You grit your teeth together, stepping away from him. "Now. Get out."

He snorted disbelievingly, "doll, are you sure you don't wanna talk or..?"

You dropped the card on the ground and dug the heel of your hands over your eyes, shaking your head. "NO! No, i don't need to talk about it, I need you to _leave._ " You stepped backward until your back hit a wall, pressing yourself against it and trying to shut out what was happening. Sans was quiet and you peered at him through your fingers. He met your eyes a moment, his gaze soft and kind and unaccusing.

"do ya, though?"

You crumpled into the floor and buried your face into your arms, a broken sob slipping through. You held yourself, your shoulders heaving as emotion you didn't know you had been holding back saw the light. Your brain scrambled to find an explanation and your body curled up into a tight ball. "I'm s-so sorry," you whimpered, hiccuping and trembling in your place, "I was just s-so _tired_ , I just wanted to stop being a _burden_. It--it was going to be better for _everyone_ and I--I--"

"hey. hey, hey, i'm not mad. no one is mad here." Sans stepped over and perched down in front of you, respecting your space for the moment and not touching you. You appreciated it, you weren't sure if you could handle being held just yet. It already felt like just breathing was too much for you. You gasped between sobs, unable to stop them as you whimpered and cried.

"I-I'm just so... I'm so fucking stupid, you know? I forget literally everything I-I'm told, and I'm so irresponsible w-with money and time and just... I barely know how to fucking function as a person, right? I'm filthy... I just... I just... I'm so tired of having to try to fucking hard at things that everyone else in the world does with _ease._  I don't want to anymore, I just want to... I wanted to... to be _done_." You peeked up at Sans with tear-filled eyes. He sat in front of you, nodding his head as he heard you.

"you're right. i getcha, darlin', i do. you can be forgetful sometimes, and you spend money ya don't have here an' there. it takes you a bit to learn things and get 'em right. ya leave messes behind sometimes too." He agreed, watching you carefully.

Your brows puckered and you snorted in frustration, "I'm clumsy, I'm an actual train wreck. I ruined things constantly, fucking up the most simple tasks. I don't pay attention when I'm supposed to.

"you are pretty clumsy. you've been known to mess up things, and things do seem to slip by you once in a while. please, do go on there's a lot of things you could say about yourself that you don't like." He allowed.

What.

"A-aren't you supposed to say, I don't know, that I'm not these things? That I'm exaggerating or thinking too much or something?" You asked with a heavy voice, his lack of reassurances jarring you out of your emotional turmoil and making you forget that, in that moment, you were supposed to be immeasurably miserable. Sans shook his head and shrugged.

"lie to you? nah, bucko, not how i play honestly. you're flawed, everyone knows that. you're clumsy, you're ditzy, you're not very cleanly. i'm not gunna sit here and lie to you, tell you how you're somehow this perfect person who can do absolutely no wrong. that's a bunch of horseshit." Sans even dared to laugh as you looked at him with indignance. How wasn't how this was supposed to play out at all.

Your mind struggled to fabricate an argument out of this new method of not-comfort. "So... I... so, I... I should... I should die, right? People... other people, they shouldn't have to deal with a mess like me. I shouldn't... I shouldn't have to live like this... People, everyone else, they don't deserve to have to put up with me and all of my shit." You insisted, only to have Sans shake his head.

"now don't you go twisting my words, kiddo. that's not what i'm saying, not at all actually. see, no one's perfect. everyone's a little fucked up. i could tell ya my flaws, i could tell you all of our flaws, but that's not the point here. the point here is that we are all super happy that you're alive. you bein' in our lives has been great. the kids adore you, our friends adore you. i adore you. you've been an overwhelmingly good thing for all of us, you know that, right?"

You huffed, "I know everyone has flaws, Sans," you said, annoyed now. "I know that, of course I do, but I'm just... I'm _so flawed_ \-- _too_ flawed." You insisted weakly, sniffling and hiccuping as you wiped your eyes and faced him without your arms covering your face. "I know... I know people enjoy me, like me, some love me, I just... I just know that, overall, it would be better for them never to have met me in the first place. Without me... their lives would have been so much better. You would have had a better coworker, a better friend. Someone who doesn't need so much help all the time, Someone who could just... just have a normal conversation right off the bat without sounding like an idiot. Someone who would show up to your parties without needing a few drinks first..."

"that doesn't make you bad." Sans protested lightly, "sure, ya have your things. you're a tightly wound ball of anxiety and fear, you need your moments where you take deep breaths and calm down so you can think your thoughts clearly. none of us judge you for that, no one gets upset when you mix up your words or stumble over them. you're flawed, you are, but there's no such thing as _too_ flawed." He reached out to your hesitantly, watching that you wouldn't flinch away from him. When you didn't, he placed his hand on your shoulder. "see, thing is, we're all real great at forgiveness and understanding. you can leave your cups out on our end tables, we'll clean it up. you can drop your coat on the floor instead of the coat rack, we'll hang it up for you. none of us mind because, frankly, you're worth the two seconds it takes us to do that."

You flinched at the words, almost physically repulsed by them.

"I'm not worth _anything_." You breathed weakly. Sans watched you, almost taking his hand away from your shoulder, but instead he held you more firmly if anything. You felt your face twist up and you turned your head away from him.

"yeah, actually, you are. you really, really are. what's a dish or two in the sink when we get to hear one of your stories? what's a sock on the floor when we get to see your newest piece of work? what's a little bit of frustration when you forget something when we get to see your bright and beautiful face at work or out at the bar? i can keep goin'... actually, i will. your laugh is infectious. the way your mind works never fails to fascinate us--hell, i'd kill to see the world the way you to just for a day. we love to watch you get so furiously passionate about things that you can't even contain your excitement when you're talkin' about it. so much so you forget to breathe between your words. it adorable. it's wonderful. _you're_ wonderful.

"darlin', you are worth absolutely anything if i get to see that smile every day."

Your heart thumped against your ribcage and you cried out weakly once more, then you let yourself tumble into his chest where you pressed your face into his sternum and sobbed.

"I d-don't deserve you," you whispered brokenly, clutching his hoodie in your fingers like you were scared he would disappear at any given moment. Sans clucked his tongue at you, his arms slipping over your shoulders and his head resting on top of yours.

"don't say that. you're not allowed to say things like that anymore, you don't get to insult yourself. i won't let ya." Sans muttered into your hair as he held you tightly against him, "I get that's what ya think but there's no one else in the world who does."

You snorted through your tears, "Fuckin' liar, I could name--"

"well, do they matter? didn't think so. there are people in the world who exist purely to make others miserable, and they'll say anything and do anything they have to ta make good, true people like you feel worthless. think whatever the hell you want, but i can say truly that no one who actually matters thinks you're anythin' but fantastic. no one thinks you're perfect, no one's perfect. no one's gunna say you don't have your flaws, that's horseshit. everyone does. but no one's gunna sit here and say you aren't absolutely worth it."

You whimpered and cried into his chest for what felt like hours. You let everything out as his words slowly began to sink in. The shame of your secret failure that had been looming over your head and raining guilt and self-doubt and self-hatred on you all year poured itself out and Sans just sat and held you the whole time, letting your sobs fade into cries. Your cries faded into whimpers, and your whimpers fading into quiet sniffles. Your eyes grew heavy, your body somehow heavier. You knew the position you were in shouldn't actually be comfortable, but there in his arms you couldn't imagine being anywhere else. Your eyes shut as your mind hazed over, finally giving way to a bit of peace. Sans' hand ran up and down your back soothingly as you slowly gave in to sleep.

"happy failure day."

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so  
> Depression and anxiety and trauma are really fucking hard to deal with, and sometimes your mind manages to make it feel like it's never ever ever going to fucking stop but like  
> If you feel like you need to take *that step*, please get some help from someone who can talk you through your bad days.  
> Celebrating Failure Days is actually really rough.
> 
> Suicide Prevention Hotline; 1-800-273-8255


End file.
